


Couches, Hotel Rooms, and Basketball

by Diary



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 04, Ambiguity, Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Fail, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Canon Queer Character, Dark Character, Disturbing Themes, Family, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Late Night Conversations, M/M, POV Multiple, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of season 4 focused mostly on Cyrus/Tom. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couches, Hotel Rooms, and Basketball

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Scandal.

A knock on the door jolts Cyrus out of his fitful doze.

Pushing the blanket aside, he sits up and calls, “Come in.”

The door opens, and the lights are turned on. “Mr Beene?”

“Tom,” he sighs. “Is there an emergency?”

“No, sir. Your car was still-”

“I’m sleeping here tonight. If you have a problem with that, take it up with your supervisor.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Tom says.

The lights are turned back out, and the door is shut.

…

He’s sure Olivia would say something if she were around, and as much as he misses her, he’s thankful she’s not.

…

One night, he wakes up to find a warm blanket spread over him.

Someone must have come in when he was sleeping, he realises, and decided his own thin blanket wasn’t enough.

He tries to think of who it might be but quickly falls back into sleep.

…

In the morning, he finds Tom, and looking around, asks, “Was the blanket you?”

“The blanket, sir?”

Tom’s face is as innocent as ever, but Cyrus has always privately thought, if Tom wanted to, he could be a successful serial killer. No one would ever seriously suspect him.

“If it was, thank you.”

Tom gives a small nod.

“You aren’t going to ask, are you?”

“It’s not my business, sir,” Tom answers.

 _Neither is keeping me from freezing to death_ , he doesn’t say.

Not sure where the thought comes from, he finds himself asking, “Do you do this for Mellie, too?”

“First Lady Grant- requires special care from everybody,” Tom carefully says. “It’s just a blanket. Sir.”

“Thank you, Tom,” he says. “Believe it or not, I really needed to hear that.”

He walks away.

…

There’s a knock on the door.

From his desk, Cyrus says, “Come in!”

Tom appears with a pillow and a different blanket in his hands.

“Just a blanket, huh,” Cyrus says.

Setting them down on the couch, Tom tells him, “One night, First Lady Grant visited Jerry’s grave and fell asleep there. Dave was afraid of how she might react if she woke up and wasn’t there, but it was even colder than it is tonight, and she wasn’t dressed very warmly. He picked her up, put her in the limo, and sat with her until she woke up in morning.”

“You don’t really understand all the grief circulating this building, do you, Tom?”

“No, sir,” is the blunt answer. “But it’s not my job to understand it.”

“If you were wondering at all, my daughter is being taken care of. Not by me, not by her father, not by either of her fathers, and James would kill me himself and throw me into Hell if he could, but she is being taken care of. Two nannies, a cook, and a cleaning lady. I shudder to think what she’ll grow up to be.”

Tom gives no reaction.

“I once spent 22 days sleeping at the Grand District Hotel. Every maid knew my name. They’re probably all still there. I don’t want a new set of maids at a different hotel to learn who I am.”

“But this was the house James wanted. The house with the probably dead garden, another thing he’d happily throw me into Hell for, if he could, containing the daughter I used my connections to get faster than most presumptive adoptive parents could ever dare to dream of. I go home in the morning, kiss Ella if she’s still there, take a shower, change my clothes, and come here. I try not to go near the bed. The last time I did, it smelled like him. I’m afraid it still will, and I’m terrified it won’t.”

He sighs.

For a long moment, Tom looks at him.

Then, to Cyrus’s surprise, Tom comments, “Even more than I can’t understand the grief, I can’t imagine loving someone so strongly. Being loved by someone so strongly.”

“What, you didn’t get your heartbroken at fifteen and hole up in your room, listening to melodramatic music? No college girlfriend sent you a Dear John email? You never watched someone you loved marry someone else?”

“I lived in an all-boys military academy from the time I was ten until I was seventeen, sir. I never went to college. Joined the navy as soon as I got enough credits to graduate early. As for loved- I watched someone get married once. This person never really noticed me. I did know this person, but probably not as well as the other man. Realistically, even if I had been noticed and my interest shared, it’s unlikely we’d’ve worked anyways.”

Cyrus lets out a small laugh but sincerely says, “I’m sorry for that.”

Tom nods. “Do you need anything before I go, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

…

Lying the feverish Ella on his bed, Cyrus represses a sigh.

“I want Daddy!”

The daytime nanny, Susie, comes in with some Tylenol. “Dr Tristian assured me these are safe.”

“But did you tell her about the-”

Cyrus isn’t sure he can quite blame Susie for waving him quiet, sitting down, and coaxing the medicine into Ella, but if Ella somehow- he keeps thinking of Jerry. If the same thing happens to Ella, Susie Henderson and Dr Raina Tristian are among the first he’ll go after.

“I know you miss him, honeybunch,” Susie says. “But your daddy’s watching over you in heaven. And your other dada’s right here.”

Ella glances over at him, and he knows he has no right to be hurt or offended by the look on her face. It says: I know a man is standing here, and I know, at one point, he did live here, but actually, I’m not sure I accept he’s any sort of father. That’s reserved for the one who gave me baths, potty-trained me, knew what kind of candy and cartoons I like, helped me get dressed when I was still figuring out buttons and zippers and shoelaces, took me for walks in the park, and put me to bed every night.

If Cyrus is lucky, she might remember him occasionally standing by with a camera during all these different things.

“It’s okay.”

Jumping, he looks over.

Giving him a sympathetic smile, Susie says, “It’s okay. She’s probably going to stay asleep for the next few hours. If she wakes up, I’ll-”

“Take the day off, Susie,” he interrupts. “Where’s the phone? If I need to, I’ll bother Dr Tristian for more instructions.”

The surprise on her face is brief but undeniably present. “Are you sure, Mr Beene? I’ve taken care of-”

“I’m sure you have, and you’d probably do a better job than I will, but I need to learn. Take the day off, Susie. I’ve already called in. I’ll take care of my daughter today.”

Nodding, she stands up. “You do important work for our country. I’ve explained that to her, sir.”

He doesn’t remember what he was like at Ella’s age, but he can all too clearly imagine how James would rant about how children need plenty of attention and interaction with their parents. Cyrus being a Republican overlord was acceptable, but Cyrus ever saying anything remotely non-condemning about any politician who didn’t support maternity leave or who otherwise didn’t try to make things easier for families, especially poor ones, was not acceptable.

Susie leaves, and after checking to make sure Ella’s still comfortably asleep, he goes to change in the bathroom.

When he comes back out, he gets a book and carefully lies down on the bed next to her.

…

After Ella’s fever breaks and she’s well enough to start going back to school, Cyrus returns to work.

At the end of his first day back, Tom knocks on his door. “Blankets tonight?”

Shaking his head, he says, “I can sleep in my own bed again.”

Tom nods and starts to leave.

“Hey, uh- that person you watched get married. What’s the rest of the story?”

Giving him a puzzled look, Tom answers, “I imagine the story’s still going, sir. For both of us. This person has their family, and I have my life.”

Cyrus nods, and Tom leaves.

He realises he’s never heard ‘she’ or ‘her’ come out of Tom’s mouth, but just as Tom doesn’t consider Cyrus’s grief-stricken coping methods to be his business aside from not having the President’s Chief of Staff catch hypothermia on White House grounds, it’s absolutely none of Cyrus’s business who a Secret Service agent might like.

…

He can’t stop thinking about Michael.

He’s never paid for sex in his life, and doing so now would make him- yet, part of him can’t care. He remembers the touches in the hotel room before he left. Putting one’s self through business school is an admirable goal.

He stopped being allowed to touch James and to be touched back by him long before James died, and while this was completely his own doing, he can’t help but-

It had been so nice to be touched and be able to touch another person back.

Tom suddenly appears, and Cyrus is proud of himself for not jumping this time. He’s always known Tom has the ability to appear and disappear with little warning (Hollis in particular used to complain every time he came to the White House about, “that creepy-eyed agent is stalking me”), but until Tom started delivering the daily roosters for all Secret Service agents to Cyrus, Cyrus didn’t truly understand what others meant when they talked about Tom doing so.  

“Thank you, Tom,” he says.

When he realises Tom hasn’t disappeared, he looks up. “Is there something else?”

“It isn’t my business, but you have the look in your eyes- you had it before, when you were sleeping in here every night.”

He finds himself admitting, “I recently met someone. But it might be bad idea to try to make something out of it. Yes, this isn’t particularly your business, but any other thoughts?”

“What’s the reason? That it might be a bad idea, sir?”

He tries to think of how to best word it. “Nothing serious could ever come out of it,” he finally says. “I know that for a fact.”

“I imagine you know for yourself if you’re emotionally equipped to handle something causal, sir,” Tom says. “This person- I don’t see how she ever would, but when your daughter is a little older, if she found out you were with this person-” Tom pauses and visibly gathers his thoughts. “How do you think she’d feel about you seeing this person, and how would you feel about her knowing you saw this person?”

The answer to this doesn’t require any thought: Cyrus would never, ever want Ella to know he hired a prostitute.

Through the still painful longing, Cyrus knows he’ll just have to suffer. Hopefully, Michael will have a good life, but he’ll never have Cyrus as a client.

“Thank you, Tom,” he repeats.

Tom disappears this time.

…

“Uh, sir,” Ethan says, “in your office- there was fight earlier. Between Secret Service.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I don’t have time- Fine. Call Tom. Agent Larsen. I’m going to want him in here.”

Looking even more nervous, Ethan tells him, “Sir- Agent Larsen _is_ in there. It, the fight, was between him and another agent. Agent Houser.”

Cyrus stares. “Wait. You’re telling Agent Thomas Larsen, Mister Boy Scout all grown up, got into a fight. With a fellow Secret Service agent.”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan meekly agrees. “Uh, I don’t know if this makes it better or worse, but he came out better than Agent Houser did.”

Going inside, Cyrus wonders what makes Ethan say this. Tom’s nose is still bleeding onto a Kleenex he has pressed against it, and Agent Houser doesn’t seem to have any injuries.

“He broke my arm!”

Cyrus sees, in fact, Agent Houser is awkwardly holding his left arm up.

“Sprained,” is Tom’s muffled reply. “Know how to break an arm.”

“I want this-”

“I don’t give a damn what either of you want,” Cyrus snaps. Closing the door, he continues, “Now, make no mistake, I genuinely have a great appreciation for the Secret Service. This country couldn’t function properly without it. However, Secret Service agents are easily replaceable. One falls, it doesn’t take much to find another physically fit man or woman willing to take a bullet if necessary.”

“I, however, have an extremely important job, and I am much, much harder to replace. I shouldn’t have to take time out of that job to deal with crap like this. Whatever this is. Now, which one of you started it, why was it started, and why shouldn’t I recommend to your supervisor and the President himself that you both be fired?”

“He looked at me,” Houser says with a glare at Tom.

Shaking his head, Tom slowly removes the Kleenex, carefully lifts his head up, and after gingerly touching underneath his nose, says, “The fact that I didn’t isn’t the point. The fact is, if I did, you should have reported me to our supervisor instead of touching me. Touching is more serious than looking.”

Cyrus suddenly has a sinking feeling in his stomach and a tension headache brewing in his head. He sits down. “I need a more comprehensive explanation than this, gentlemen.”

“He was taking a shower in the locker rooms. I came in, and he looked at me,” Houser declares.

Privately, Cyrus thinks Ella sounds less like a petulant child when she actually is petulant over something than Houser does right now.

“No, I didn’t,” Tom says. “After I got dressed, he grabbed me, and I pinned him against the wall. He broke free and punched me.”

“You broke my arm!”

“It’s not broken. I know how to break an arm. I know how to recognise a broken arm, and if you were any kind of agent, you would, too.”

Seeing how Houser visibly straightens himself, Cyrus snaps, “Hey!”

They both move even further away from one another.

“I’m still lost somewhere,” he says. “Agent Houser, do you want to explain when exactly someone allegedly looking at you funny became cause for allegedly grabbing them? We’ll get to Agent Larsen’s side of all this in a minute. First, let’s hear yours.”

“Everyone knows what he is,” Houser says with a twitch in his jaw. “He never takes showers here. And no, I don’t think he wants me. He did it because he knew how uncomfortable it would make me.”

The sinking feeling and headache continues to grow. “Tom?”

“My apartment complex has no hot water. If Agent Houser can do what my landlady hasn’t been able to do and get that fixed, I promise I will continue taking all my showers at home. I heard someone come in, I glanced over and went back to showering. I didn’t look at him the way he’s accusing me of. Although, again, that fact is irrelevant, sir. If I had, he should have gone through proper channels instead of grabbing me.”

“Right, you’d take having that on your record well,” Houser mutters.

Cyrus doesn’t like the fact he thinks Houser might have something of a point.

Tom gives a slight shrug. “I am Special Agent Tom Larsen, head of President Grant’s detail. I do my job, and I do it well. I don’t drink, I’ve never failed a drug test, and until my apartment complex ran completely out of hot water, I never showered or changed in the locker rooms. That is who I am, that is what everyone knows, Agent Houser.”

Knowing he should interject, Cyrus finds himself sitting uncomfortably close to the edge of his seat.

“Here’s what else everyone knows: The President and the Vice President don’t get along, and ever since Hal transferred, more and more of those loyal to President Grant are being replaced by ones picked personally by Vice President Nichols himself. Now, I’m not making any accusations of wrongdoing on the part of the VP himself, but I am accusing you and the others of trying to drive us out.”

Rolling up his sleeve, Tom reveals a faint bruise on his arm. “You touched me. I can prove that. Now, prove that I looked at you in a provocative way.”

He can’t, Cyrus realises with feelings he isn’t sure how to decipher swirling inside him.

With clearer focus, he latches onto what Tom just said about Nichols.

“Okay,” he says. “Houser, go to medical, and then, report to your supervisor. I’ll talk to her later. Tom, you’re staying.”

They both nod, and Tom opens the door.

Once Houser is gone, Cyrus orders, “Close it, and sit.”

Tom obeys and begins rolling his sleeve back down.

“Why haven’t you said anything about Vice President Nichols bringing in more Secret Service agents and- what, reshuffling others?”

“To who, sir,” Tom asks. He buttons up his sleeve. “And why? After what President Grant tried to do- we all try not to bother him with anything that doesn’t truly need his attention.”

“Tried to do?”

Tom shakes his head, and his face is completely unreadable. “Private,” he says in such a way Cyrus instinctively knows he won’t elaborate.

“And you didn’t think to come to me?”

“I considered it,” Tom answers. “Drewdrop hasn’t done anything wrong, sir. I don’t like most of his picks, but until now, I’ve been able to work with them. On paper and, so far, in action, they’re good agents.”

Digging out all the roosters he can find in his desk, Cyrus orders, “Go sign out, and then, come back here. We’re going to talk more about who’s left and who’s come recently.”

“I’ve already signed out, sir,” Tom says. “Agent Houser and I both did.”

“Come over here, then,” Cyrus tells him.

…

“Cyrus,” Olivia greets with a warm smile.

Reaching over, he hugs her. “Hey. Brace yourself.”

Pulling him and closing her door, she warns, “Cyrus, you’re not getting me back into-”

“I can’t prove it, and Tom is likely just humouring me, but I’m pretty sure Andrew Nichols is going to stage a coup or something soon.”

Staring, she says, “I’m sorry, what? Tom- Tom Larsen? A coup?”

Nodding, he hands her the highlighted roosters. “Recently, Andrew has been replacing a number of Secret Service agents with his own picks. Now, what Tom has said about some of them- I’m sitting down, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees. She follows suit. “Against my better judgement, I’m listening, Cy.”

…

“The one good thing about this whole mess, aside from the fact you aren’t going to get in trouble for the fight, is that Lizzie Bear is gone,” Cyrus tells Tom.

“Do you think she was part of whatever you think the VP was allegedly planning?”

“Tom, it’s clear he was planning something. He went from being in debt to having off-shore bank accounts, and he has encrypted emails on a burner smartphone he’s refusing to release. Have you done what we discussed for Mellie’s new detail?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom answers. “All but Dave have been replaced, and they’ll try to keep as much as this out of her ears as possible. Karen Grant’s new detail has also been solidified.”

“Good.”

“Sir, about Ms North. Do you think she was involved?”

“I don’t know or care, so long as she stays away from the White House,” he answers.

Tom gives him a surprised, unsure look.

Sighing, he says, “Call it what you will, but Andrew is a single man with no close family nearby. He’s Vice President. Elizabeth- she has a daughter, too. She’s good, I’ll grant her that, but she’ll never be the threat he is. If she manages to claw her way back while I’m still here, I’ll deal with her, then.”

Tom nods.

Bracing himself, Cyrus says, “I don’t care whether you looked or not. I don’t care what you are. I don’t care that you lied about there being no hot water in your apartment complex. I just hope you know what you’re doing, Tom. Whatever reason you have for going from dutiful, neutral agent to active political player, either make sure you’re truly prepared, or bow out right now.”

“You called my landlady?”

“Yes,” Cyrus agrees. “Take it or leave it, here’s a tip: When someone points out you’ve deviated from your usual way of doing things, keep it vague. ‘I don’t know why,’ ‘I felt like a change,’ etc. Don’t give concrete reasons, no matter how reasonable and mundane and believable they sound, if they aren’t true. Or try not to. Because yes, there will always be people who will be thorough and check.”

Tom’s quiet for a moment. “Whether you like it or not, you know I’m apolitical. When President Grant leaves, I’m going to stay here and protect the next President. I don’t care who that is. I didn’t do this to go after the Vice President. I just didn’t want to be the next one transferred. I knew how that would sound to you or anyone else, ‘I don’t like most of the people the VP’s been picking, and I don’t want him to exercise his right to transfer me.’”

“Hm. And it worked. Looks like being unnoticed most of the time works for you, Agent Larsen,” Cyrus comments.

“Sometimes,” Tom says. A look Cyrus isn’t sure how to classify crosses Tom’s face. “And sometimes, it ends with me watching a wedding-” Shaking his head, Tom snaps out of it. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Did you love this person? Want to marry them?”

“No,” Tom answers. “I don’t believe in marriage, and I don’t love this person. I just want- wanted them.”

Shaking his head, Cyrus says, “Disturbingly, this might explain a lot about you. That’s all, Tom.”

…

This is all Ethan’s fault, Cyrus decides, and he should be painfully killed.

Cyrus knew Secret Service sometimes played basketball on the Presidential basketball court, but he never gave it much thought. Before James, he didn’t want to be caught enjoying the sight of young, fit men playing, and after James, he definitely didn’t want to be caught ever looking at anyone but his husband with any sort of non-professional interest.

He starts to leave, but before he can fully turn, the voice of the visiting Hal says, “Mr Beene?”, and he reaches over to tug at Tom’s shoulder.

Tom swats a basketball out of another agent’s hands and comes over.

For reasons he’s not sure of, Cyrus finds himself exasperated and uneasy at the fact everyone simply expects him to be here for Tom.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. To Tom, he says, “Before you leave today, I need to talk to you about Ella. According to Ethan, her nanny might not have proper security clearance.”

Tom’s body language makes it clear he’s going to come now, and before Cyrus can say otherwise, Hal cheerfully offers, “Maybe you could come watch us play afterwards, Mr Beene. Winning team gets-”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not interested in basketball. I just need to make sure my daughter visiting doesn’t inadvertently get the White House put on lockdown.”

“If Ms Henderson isn’t showing to be properly cleared, it’s likely due to clerical error. Whatever it is, though, it should be easy enough to fix. Your office, sir?”

“Thank you, Tom,” he says.

He leads the way.

…

“Do you think Hal might be transferring back?”

“Unlikely,” Tom answers. “In Montana, there’s an FBI agent he’s been seeing. Last week, he bought a ring.”

Surprised, Cyrus says, “Oh. Good for him. I hope they’ll be happy together.”

Tom briefly glances over.

Amused, Cyrus says, “Right. You don’t believe in marriage.”

“I’m glad Hal is happy,” Tom says.

“You could always try to find someone for yourself instead of pining after a married person,” he points out.

“Ms Henderson is cleared, sir,” Tom says. He turns the tablet around. Then, after a few seconds, he says, “I’m not pining. Whatever did or didn’t happen with your causal someone, respectfully, not everyone else has the same opportunities you have.”

“Oh? For what?”

He’s almost sure Tom isn’t going to answer.

Instead, Tom suddenly declares, “I really didn’t look. At Houser. I had a vague plan, but the fact that I didn’t even need one, that it was that easy, that he seems to genuinely believe I did, all of that is- disturbing. Sometimes, people would like to find someone else to do private things with. Private things that involve touching. Without diminishing how important your marriage was, you’re never going to be defined solely by it. The fact I refuse to get a girlfriend- Houser is right that, others don’t have proof, but they know what I am.”

His good mood suddenly gone, Cyrus manages not to groan.

He’s never going to be a good person. He’s already working on plans to force a Senator to resign, and there are times when the sickening memories of manipulating James and, worse of all, outright controlling James with the threat of no Ella refuse to leave him alone. There’s the time he still isn’t sure even really happened when he told Charlie to- he wouldn’t really be the type to order such permanent harm, not on the person he loves more than anyone, except, Charlie’s billing proves he did. Olivia rants about people who have everything but still want more, and whether the angry kid who hated how no one believed a short, chubby boy from new money could ever truly change the world would agree or not, Cyrus will privately admit he’s one of those people now.

And now, this young, genuinely good man has just stupidly told him something he could use as leverage in the future.

Part of him is tempted to say, _You are pining after a married man. Accept that and start trying to move on. Find a nice man and build a life with him. Sprain some more arms when people give you crap. Find other options if Secret Service doesn’t work out._

“The self-centred, overdeveloped, self-prescribed importance of youth,” he finds himself commenting. “I’ll never solely be defined as gay man because I finally stopped being afraid of that and decided not to care. You care more about being defined a certain way than most others care about defining you that way. If you want to have a one-night stand, you know how to be discreet, and presumably, you’d be smart enough to be safe about it. If you want to find someone to build a life with, then, either try to find that person or accept that you’re likely never going to get that.”

Shaking his head, Tom simply responds, “Sir.”

“You’re eventually going to get a President even more challenging than Fitz is. If you have something to say, you might as well just say it, Tom. Unlike you, I’m probably not going to be staying after Fitz leaves.”

Tom considers this.

Finally, he says, “I lied about the hot water, but I generally don’t lie. I don’t want a relationship. I probably wouldn’t have even with the married man before he was. If I went out and found someone to take home or go home with, there’d probably be some talking. I could lie about my job, or I could open myself and the President himself up to risk by telling them I’m Secret Service.”

Looking at him fully, Tom says, “I respect your ambition. I’m just much simpler. I want to do a job I’m good at, have enough money to eat well, and have a warm bed at night. If that means I can’t touch someone I’d really like to and be touched by them, I will pay that price without complaining.”

 _God, I never realised you were this young_ , runs through Cyrus’s head. _You should be this young, but not like this._

The phone rings, Cyrus moves to answer it, and Tom leaves. 

…

Damn Susan and her compassionate, determined spirit, is Cyrus’s thought when he ends up stripped down to his undershirt and boxers in his office.

Unlike Mellie, she genuinely likes having families in the White House, playing with children, and rationally explaining to anxious, idiotic parents why it is actually important they vaccinate their brats.

Cyrus still isn’t sure how he managed to get his suit covered in paint, but of course, it had to happen on the one day he’d spent his spare suit out for dry cleaning.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Unless you’re Ethan, go away!”

He can practically feel the person on the other side pausing.

“Sir,” Tom’s voice says, “it’s Agent Larsen. Is there a problem?”

Huffing, Cyrus goes over, opens the door enough to pull Tom in, and quickly close it.

For once, Tom's calmness seems close to deserting him as he obviously has no idea what is going on or how to react.

“A child somehow coated my suit with paint. I’d like to do horrible things to Susan Ross, but despite this and the TV spectacle and God knows what else that woman will end up doing these next three years, she truly is all that a VP should be. If I’m needed somewhere, it’ll have to wait until Ethan gets through arguing with Susie the nanny over whether it’s appropriate for little girls to wear white hair ribbons and brings me a suit!”

At the time, Cyrus hadn’t paid much attention, but just before James’s funeral, Ethan had carefully tied white ribbons through Ella’s hair. Then, about a month later, Ella had come in with white hair ribbons, and Ethan had come close to freaking out. He’d somehow found some butterfly barrettes and, before anyone could stop him, had replaced the ribbons with them.

Susie, who had spent fifteen minutes putting Ella’s hair in braids, had been displeased.

Fully aware most parents would probably be- something, Cyrus can barely bring himself to care. There might come a time in the future when she wants something radical done and he’ll have to decide how James would want him to handle it, but right now, he’s made it clear, whatever hairstyle Ella asks Susie for in the morning, Susie should do.

And if Ethan wants to argue with a nanny over the colour of a small child’s hair ribbons, as long as Ella is nowhere physically near the argument and can’t hear it happening, this is Ethan and Susie’s prerogative.

Except, of course, when Cyrus desperately needs a suit.

 He’s just about to call Ethan when Tom holds a folder out. “You don’t need to go anywhere. I’m requesting a week off next month. The third week.”

“Right, I’ll get that handled later. Hal’s wedding?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can go, now, Tom.”

Tom practically flies out of the room.

…

Cyrus is getting some dates to bring home to Ella from the kitchens when he hears, “Hey, Larsen, two words, sixteen letters for the sea.”

“Sorry,” Tom’s voice says. “I don’t know.”

“What,” the voice demands. “You always know. Hey, look at me. Now, concentrate.”

“Try ‘Mermaid Dominion’,” Tom suggests.

“Yeah, that fits,” the voice says.

Another voice inquires, “What did Kingmaker do to you? You haven’t been this off your game since-”

“Nothing was done,” Tom interrupts. “I’m not off my game.”

“Five letters, one word, the clue is ‘salt solution’.”

“Brine,” Tom immediately answers. “You’re never going to learn how to do these yourself if you always-”

“I heard Kingmaker was stripped down to his underwear earlier after that kid spilled paint on him. You went into his office around that time, right? So, boxers or briefs?”

Cyrus wonders if he should walk away or walk around the corner.

“We don’t talk about him unless it’s work related or we’re talking about his octopus,” Tom insists.

Stifling a laugh at the mention of Ella, Cyrus decides to leave.

…

“I hate peace treaty signings,” Cyrus declares.

Tom makes a small noise, looks around, and continues sipping his soda water. 

“If they ever did any actual good, it’d be one thing, but most of the time, they’re broken, the U.N. does nothing, and there’s even more bad blood. No, I don’t have a better alternative, but everyone not wasting time and money probably wouldn’t make things significantly worse.”

“Is that why your daughter isn’t here?”

“She’s visiting her grandparents.” At Tom’s look, he clarifies, “Mr and Mrs Novak. James’s father loved James, hated the gayness. Mrs Novak was okay with her son being gay, but she would have been happier if he’d found a younger man to marry. He’s dying, and I’m not sure if she’s going to last long after he does. They wanted to spend some private time with their granddaughter before it was too late.”

“That’s nice of you to let them.”

“I have no reason not to.”

He’s about to signal for another drink when a distinctive uniform catches his eye, and he feels his blood boiling.

“Sir?”

Tom’s quiet, concerned voice brings him back.

“Do me a favour, Tom, and tell the President I suddenly needed to go. He’ll probably understand why.”

Outside, grateful for the darkness, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

Eventually, he realises he feels a nearby presence. Opening his eyes and stepping forward, he isn’t surprised to see the moonlit form of Tom. “I’m fine,” he says. “Jake Ballard is still breathing, but I’m fine.”

Tom remains silent.

He’s never asked why Cyrus attacked Ballard. Whether he even knows about B6-13 or not, Cyrus isn’t sure. If he does, how he feels about it-

“You better get back inside.”

“The President told me to try to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.”

Tom still doesn’t move.

Sighing, Cyrus says, “Say you’re not afraid of anything. What would you do tonight?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Because you don’t know or because you don’t want to answer?”

“I know what you’d do,” Tom says almost too quietly to hear. “You’d kill Jake Ballard. Or you’d try to. He’d probably kill you before you even got as far as you did last time. Even if you did manage to, there are people who’d make you pay. You couldn’t talk your way out of it or pay them off with money or favours.”

“And that’s where not being afraid would come in.”

“What about Ella?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never been a particularly good father. She’s James’s daughter, and she’d have Liv looking out for her. She’d be fine. Eventually.”

“I’d stop you,” Tom abruptly says. “Not for his sake. Not even for yours. I’d stop you because the grief is finally starting to lessen around the White House. The reason Ethan doesn’t want Ella wearing white hair ribbons is because, in his grandmother’s culture, women wore white hair ornaments when they were grieving. She’s President Grant’s goddaughter, and she’d be running around with white ribbons in her hair while Ethan had to be stopped from crying and the President and Ms Pope tried to work things out without further hurting Mrs Grant.”

“Fair enough,” Cyrus mutters. “So, you don’t know, or you just don’t want to answer?”

“You’re my boss,” Tom responds. “And I’m not brave enough to risk my job by answering.”

Curiosity floods him, but he simply repeats, “Fair enough.” Walking over, he clasps Tom’s shoulder. “I’m going home. Have a goodnight, Tom.”

He starts to take his hand off but pauses as he takes in Tom’s silent reaction.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Tom echoes.

Moving back around, he looks at Tom. “What’s the story?”

“I think I should get back-”

“Tom, unless you screw up in protecting the President, your job is safe. Answer me.”

“I don’t want a relationship. I probably wouldn’t even want to stay the night. But if you wanted me to, it’d be nice to touch you. To be touched by you.”

Go home, part of his brain orders. Alcohol and all these other emotions don’t mix well, and you’ve never been one of those bosses who sleeps with the staff.

Except, he’s only had one glass of scotch, Fitz would never let him get rid of Tom, and God, does he want this.

“Care to join me, then?”

Giving him a slight smile, Tom nods.

…

“Hey, Agent Larsen,” Ethan cheerfully greets. “Um, Cyrus isn’t here right now. Apparently, the Grand District hotel didn’t give him his wake up call. Why he went there last night, though, I’m not sure. But it’s an over a year since James- maybe he’s finally putting himself out there.”

He’d prefer to think this as opposed to Cyrus leaving the treaty signing early and checking into a hotel to deal with a sudden onslaught of fresh grief.

“This is for him,” Tom says. He sets down a Styrofoam cup and two bakery packages.

From the smell, Ethan can tell they contain fresh cinnamon rolls and chocolate eclairs.

“Okay,” he says. “Uh, sorry, I’m a little confused. Is there-”

“Please, just make sure he gets them.”

With this, Tom leaves, and bemused, Ethan calls to cancel Cyrus’s usual breakfast order. Technically, Cyrus is only supposed to eat lean meats, be restricted to two cups of sugar-free coffee, and have a limited amount of baked goods, but- whether Cyrus leaving early and checking into a hotel was good or bad, some special treats are definitely in order.

…

Cyrus finds Tom manning the front entrance. “Take a break, Agent Larsen. We need to talk.”

Tom radios in, and when an agent comes to replace him, he follows Cyrus to an empty briefing room.

“So. You don’t stay the night, but you do buy breakfast in the morning.”

Tom looks almost helpless. “I told you, I’m not good at- I don’t usually do this sort of- What we did, it was very nice, and I felt I needed to do something, but I truly don’t believe in relationships. I’m just not sure how exactly a person is supposed to express that. Sir.”

Laughing slightly, Cyrus shakes his head. “Look, Tom, I understand. Aside from the fact you’ve said this more than once, I checked into a hotel because, even realising the complete unlikelihood of it happening, I didn’t want to risk Ella somehow coming home early and walking in on me doing anything less than G rated with another man. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll both have a pleasant memory. Thank you for the coffee and breakfast.”

Smiling, Tom nods. “Thank you for last night. Have a good day, Mr Beene.”

“You too.”

…

This time, he doesn’t feel comfortable blaming anyone.

Susie’s taking a few days off for personal family matters, and Ethan decided to take Ella to watch Secret Service playing basketball.

“Why are some of them taking their shirts off?”

Cyrus looks up from his papers just in time to see Tom is one of them stripping his shirt off.

“It’s called shirts against skins,” Ethan tells her. “The ones with shirts on play against the ones without.”

“Why is it okay for boys to do that but older girls can’t?”

 _Oh, my God, you truly are James’s daughter_ , he finds himself thinking.

Once, before he and James were dating, he’d teased James about an article on topless female protesters, and already in a bad mood about something else, James had proceed to launch into an all-out treatise on how the societal mandate female breasts be sexualised was a threat to feminism, LGBT rights, and most importantly, the stability and well-being of families.

“Vice-President Ross might know,” Ethan suggests.

“And if she’s not busy, then, you can ask her,” Cyrus interjects. “If not, you’ll need to wait until Susie comes back.”

“That skin is really good,” Ella says.

He looks up, and she points.

Tom is really good, he agrees.

Looking back down at his papers, he tells her, “That’s Special Agent Tom Larsen. He’s one of the ones who helped save the President when the President was shot.”

Suddenly, Ella wraps herself around his arm. “Daddy didn’t let me watch the TV, but he said that he was scared that you were hurt, too. Did Agent Tom keep you safe?”

He moves his papers aside and eases her onto his lap. “I was fine, sweetheart. No one shot me. Do you know when Daddy didn’t let you watch the TV?”

“I was three,” she tells him. “The news was on, and the President fell down, and Daddy turned the TV off. We listened to music instead.”

She turns around to watch the game and snuggles up against him.

Kissing her head, he watches the game, too.

To his surprise, Tom is playing aggressively rather than defensively.

“Who’s winning,” Ella asks.

“Agent Larsen’s team,” Ethan answers. “He usually doesn’t play like this, but since you and your dad are here, he’s going to win today.”

Cyrus looks over, and Ethan simply shrugs. “It’s true, sir.”

“Why?”

“Yes, Ethan, why?” Cyrus asks.

“No one likes to lose in front of their boss,” Ethan answers. “And no boy wants to lose in front of a pretty girl,” he says with a soft smile at Ella.

When the game ends, Cyrus comments, “You might just a future in sports forecasting.”

Ella climbs out of his lap and runs onto the court before he can stop her.

“I can take her to the kitchens,” Ethan offers. “The cook who made those milkshakes for Casey Langston is still here.”

"Cassidy," he corrects. Seeing Ella is being cooed over by most of the agents, he nods. “Thank you, Ethan. Nothing with caffeine, and try to keep her away from Mrs Grant. Mellie’s doing much better, but I’m not so sure seeing Ella wouldn’t cause a relapse.”

“Got it,” Ethan agrees.

Gathering his papers, Cyrus leads Ethan over.

Tom has slipped his shirt back on and is kneeling down next to Ella while the other agents sit nearby.

“Have you ever shot someone?”

Before Cyrus can say anything, Tom answers, “When I was twelve, I accidentally shot a classmate with a BB gun. He was fine, but afterwards, he still kept stealing my shoes.”

Ella laughs but pauses. “Guns aren’t allowed at school.”

“They were at mine,” Tom tells her. “Some people go to military school. It’s taught by people in the army and people who used to be in the army, and one of the ways it’s different from regular school is they teach how to safely handle weapons. It wasn’t my fault the other boy was shot, but I still got in trouble. Adults who carry weapons need to make sure they never accidentally shoot someone.”

Ella nods.

“Ella,” Cyrus says, “Ethan’s going to take you to the kitchens. Do you want to try a milkshake?”

Abandoning her adoring fans, Ella clamours over to Ethan. “Yes, please!”

Tom stands up, and Cyrus turns away and hopes there was nothing obvious about his movements.

Sweat has soaked through Tom’s shirt, the outline of his biceps are visible, and his hair isn’t as in place as it usually is. He’s tall and strong, and Cyrus is remembering exactly what it was like to-

Mentally shaking the thoughts away, he leans down to kiss Ella. “I’ll see you later, okay, sweetie?”

“Okay,” she agrees with an impatient tug on Ethan’s hand.

…

Coming into the office and closing the door, Tom asks, “Ms Henderson is back?”

Looking up, Cyrus nods. “Agent Matthews is now safe.”

“He’s going to miss having Ella around,” Tom says. “I was wondering-”

Cyrus looks back over. “Wondering what?”

“Nothing, sir,” Tom answers. “Have a good night.”

“Tom.”

“Nothing,” Tom repeats. He edges closer to the door.

Studying him, Cyrus finds himself recognising the expression on Tom’s face. “I thought we agreed it was a one-time thing.”

“We did,” Tom acknowledges. He puts his hand on the doorknob.

 _What are you doing, Tom_ , he wonders. _Surely, you have to realise that other, more attractive options aren’t as dangerous as you’ve pointed out they could be. In what world am I a safe choice? If it did manage to get out, don’t you know what people would think of you sleeping with me as opposed to sleeping with a young man closer to your age? They’d find the latter far more understandable, especially if he was a good-looking man._

“I do have to get home by nine,” he says. “And however you feel about relationships, if you find yourself wanting one, don’t want it with me. I absolutely can’t give that to anyone at this point in my life. All I’m capable of giving is an hour or two in a hotel room. Neither Ella or my job- both of them, especially her, mean that I need to keep anything involving hotel rooms discreet.”

Nodding, Tom moves over to him. “I understand all of that.” Slowly, he puts a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “I get off in thirty minutes. That’s about an hour and a half before nine.”

“Okay.” Reaching up, he touches Tom’s hand.

…

He didn’t realise how much he missed sex until he started getting it on a regular basis again.

Part of him feels guilty, but physically and mentally, he feels better than he has in a long time.

Tom seems to be benefitting, too. He’s noticeably more assertive with others, and while still quiet and polite, he’s a little more outgoing and causal.

There’s a knock on his door, and Tom comes in.

“Business,” he asks.

Coming over, Tom reaches down and straightens his tie. Quietly, he says, “I may not be able to make tonight. I’d like to, but someone I served with is suddenly in town. I need to meet up with him and make sure he’s taken care of.”

“That’s fine,” Cyrus says. “Have fun with your friend.”

“If- if I can get him settled before nine?”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend the night out with him?”

“He’s not exactly a friend,” Tom answers. “We served together, and we did it well. But mostly, he boils down to daddy issues and him being a mortal man pinning after a demigoddess.”

Laughing slightly, Cyrus asks, “His words or yours in regards to the woman in question?”

Smiling slightly, Tom answers, “I can see why men fall over her. She’s kind, but whether she realises it or not, she’s just using him. On some level, he knows it, too.” His fingers briefly trail upwards and skim over a pulse on Cyrus’s neck. “If I can get away before nine, I’d much rather spend the time with you.”

“Okay, well, if you get out before eight-thirty, call me. If not, it’ll have to be some other night.”

Tom nods and leaves.

…

Sitting down on the park bench, Tom looks over.

“You know that Rowan’s cleaning house, don’t you? Three people know the truth behind Jerry Grant’s death. You make it two, and he’ll make it one,” Jake Ballard says.

“I’m loyal to him,” Tom says.

“Uh-huh,” Jake says. “Think that matters?”

When Tom doesn’t answer, Jake continues, “Does he know about you and Cyrus Beene?”

Wearily, Tom looks over. “I don’t know what he does and doesn’t know.”

“Personally, I’m not judging you. You know how bad I felt about killing James Novak. It’s good to know he can move on, to some extent. And you- well, it’s nice to know you have human urges. Not just some mindless B6-13 robot.”

“But do you think Command will leave things along indefinitely? One night, you and he stayed at the hotel all night. I don’t know if you slept, but I imagine he did. Either Command sees you becoming attached and you’re guilty of breaking the no relationships rule, or good job, you’ve successfully infiltrated Cyrus Beene’s bed. He trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you. The first time you don’t feel right telling Rowan something about him or manipulating him to do something on Rowan’s orders, once again, you become the troublesome wild card who knows the truth about Jerry’s death.”

“You can’t protect me,” Tom says. “To say you can’t protect Cyrus is an understatement, and he’s not some innocent. He’s made- choices. The same way you, me, and Command have. Command doesn’t go after little girls. He especially won’t go after his daughter’s goddaughter.”

“Maybe,” Jake says. “I mean, he went after an innocent fifteen-year-old, but hopefully, you’re right.” Laughing slightly, he says, “When it comes to you, though, you know that you can’t trust him. You believed in the republic, Tom. You probably still do.”

“Despite what he says, attachments don’t negate or dilute that commitment. Or at least, they don’t have to. In his case, it’s happened, and he’s projecting. Somewhere along the way, everything became about Liv, not the republic. We both know that.”

“Now, I believe in her. I love her. I want her safe and happy. You respect her position as Command’s daughter. Do you, personally, believe, though, that Jerry Grant should have been taken due to her? That Harrison Wright deserved that bullet you put in him? That that bullet was a shot for the republic, its freedom, its continuation?”

Standing up, Jake says, “Well, if you do kill me, maybe not tonight. We both have someone else’s bed we’d rather be in. Who knows? Maybe we’ll both get to stay the night.”

…

Outside the hotel, Cyrus asks, “Your navy buddy all settled?”

“Yep,” Tom says. He reaches over and touches Cyrus’s cheek.

 _Public_ , flashes through Cyrus’s mind, but thrill, excitement, and longing propel him to reach up and cup the back of Tom’s head.

Tom leans down, and Cyrus shivers at the thoroughness of their kiss.

When they break apart, he manages to suggest, “Inside?”

Nodding, Tom takes his hand and leads him in.

…

Fitz looks at Olivia and Jake. “What’s this about?”

“It’s about my father,” Olivia softly tells him.

“And Jerry,” Jake adds.

“Jerry?”

Guiding Olivia onto the Oval couch, Jake reaches over and wraps a hand around Fitz’s arm. “Sit down, Fitz. This is going to be hard to hear.”

…

Tom’s phone wakes Cyrus up.

“Sorry,” Tom mumbles. He unwraps himself from around Cyrus and sits up. On the display, before Tom answers, Cyrus sees _J.B._ “This is Larsen.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, and then, Tom says, “I understand. Give me a minute.” Setting the phone on the nightstand, he looks down. “Sorry, but private conversation. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Blearily, Cyrus nods.

Tom kisses him, gets out of bed, and takes the phone to the bathroom.

Cyrus tries to keep himself awake and is relieved when Tom quickly comes back. “Everything okay,” he yawns out.

Climbing back into bed, Tom wraps back around him. “It is, now. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“Sounds good,” Cyrus agrees.

He feels Tom wrapping the sheets more securely around them and drifts into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
